


Broken Bottles

by Lostkid



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Angst, I'm Sorry, Sad, Suicidal Thoughts, Swearing, Underage Drinking, attempted suicide, morty cries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-31 17:42:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6480352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lostkid/pseuds/Lostkid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was pitiful, wasn't it? And almost funny, now that he thought about it.  He never thought he'd grow so lonely that drinking himself to death was a tempting option, but here they were. Fate was a bitch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken Bottles

The floor around him is littered with empty bottles, some cracked, some smashed, cutting into his bare feet. He smiles lazily at the soft sound they make, clinking into each other, not hard enough to break, no, he's done enough of that already. He's broken all the bottles he drank at first, dropping or throwing them onto the cold tile- but he'd grown tired of that, now merely letting them fall from his dangling hand; they don't smash anymore. They crack, sure, but they don't smash.

He isn't sure how much he's drunk; he'd only come down to the empty lab to look for his...his...he isn't sure, he's forgotten. It doesn't matter, the most important thing in that room had _left_ , had fucked off to who knows where and left them. It doesn't _fucking_ matter.

He'd only meant to drink one. To taste the bitter feeling that Rick was addicted to. It was just beer, nothing special, but after drinking so much, he supposes it doesn't affect much; it's either going to kill him or give him a motherfucker of a headache in the morning.

The lab was special, it wasn't meant to be ruined by Morty's dumbass decisions, like getting wasted while slumped it Rick's chair, but hey, the universe decided to be a dick once in a while. The lab isn't meant to be filled with Morty's broken sobs, it's meant to echo Rick's grumbling and Morty's whining, consistencies that Morty treasures like nothing else.

_"Rick and Morty, a hundred years!"_

What's Rick doing right now, he wonders. Is he asleep? Eating? Getting tortured? The possibility of him being dead makes Morty cough out a weak laugh. He's always thought that he'd die before Rick, that he'd make some stupid mistake on an adventure and end up getting eaten, or shot, or blown up...

Like Rick said, Mortys are replaceable.

Like Rick said, there are thousands of universes he could escape to if he got bored.

Did... _did_ Rick say that?

It doesn't matter, it was true. If Morty dies right now, Rick could just hop into another universe where Morty didn't decide to be a fucking _idiot_ and drink himself to death.

Mortys are replaceable, Rick said that. And Morty knows that. He knows he probably isn't his Rick's first Morty, and he most likely won't be his last. If there's one thing consistent with every parallel dimension, it's that ever Rick has a Morty. Every Rick has his grandson, his fri- no. Not a friend, just someone stupid enough to cancel out his own precious brainwaves. Just a tool.

He thinks of his own worthlessness as the bottle he's gripping with sweaty fingers falls onto its side, smashing onto the table. Morty curses weakly at the beer spreading everywhere, and the glass pieces stuck in his wrist, but he can't lift his head, can't feel the pain in his arm, can only feel his eyes closing from exhaustion and buzzing in his ears and...

...and familiar hands shaking him, desperately pulling at his sleeve and lifting him up and...and...

Nothing but heart monitor beeps.

He'll try again next week.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry.


End file.
